


Couronnes

by AuntRose



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Coming Out, Gen, M/M, Modern Royalty, Outing, they're fucking princes in every meaning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:30:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntRose/pseuds/AuntRose
Summary: "Everything is fine.His name is Louis Tomlinson, he’s the fucking Prince of France, and everything is fine."(Nothing is fine in the kingdom of France. Nothing is fine either in Prince Harry of Great Britain's mind.)Royals AU where Louis and Harry may or may not find some peace of mind together.





	Couronnes

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this like a year or two ago. I finally put together a chapter i'm happy with so i thougth i might share it. Let's pray i manage to finish this story, yeah?
> 
> Enjoy!

Your name is Louis Tomlinson.

Your name is Louis Tomlinson, and that means expectations. That means good grades, perfect manners, always a polite smile at the ready by the corner of your lips to be offerred to a stranger. It means expensive Dior tailored suits to host balls where you make dolled up princesses for the night waltz all over the room, sweeping them off of their feet, leaving them with stars in their eyes and hope in their hearts.

Your name is Louis Tomlinson, and that means being good at pretending. Yes, I’m having a great night, what about you? No, thank you, I wouldn’t want to get drunk at a ball. Yes, we shared a dance, she’s very pretty, what a nice girl. Possibly a future queen, who knows?

Your name is Louis Tomlinson. That means you’re first in line for the golden crown of France, which should come to rest on yuor head within the next few years.

But who gives a shit about the future, you’re young and beautiful, you might as well make the best of it. It’s worth telling your bodyguard you need to piss and escaping through the bathroom window, Stan calling him a few hours later to assure that the prince is napping on one of his subjets’ couch. It’s worth tipping an extra grand for a ten minutes cab ride at five in the morning to get out of the gay neighbourhood of Paris without a whisper to the press and wearing a turtleneck and as much concealer as you can get away with at brunch a few hours later.

So when you are Louis Tomlinson, you are used to your family’s publicist roars of anger directed at you. It’s familiar, almost reassuring. You’ve fucked up, again, but we’re dealing with it. You’ll be okay. 

So when Louis wakes up on a cloudy morning of April to his family publicist’s shouts coming from the lounge next to his bedroom, he doesn’t worry. Alright, he is about to get another talk about how the media is ruthless and he needs to stop giving them material to burn his prince charming reputation to the ground. So what? He knows every words already. 

Louis, this can’t keep happening. It’s time for you to be an adult. This recklessness will cost you. When are you going to understand that the risks you’re taking are giving my staff grey hair? This attitude is not one of a future king. Cowell usually starts his rant red-faced, his eyebrows frown. it always ends with him trying to hug Louis. It worked until Louis was eleven.

He hasn’t done anything particularly bad in the past few weeks, at least not that he remembers of, just the usual partying a bit, drinking expensive champagne with his mates just because he’s twenty two and he can. No worries, he can peacefully go back to sleep.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

He tells himself he’s going to get another twenty minutes of lying in bed and ignoring the world before being a useful member to society, but no, no because it isn’t just his publicist shrieking and Christ, Cowell, you’re going to strain your vocal chords if you keep going, calm down, it’s also his sisters crying; the last straw is hearing his mother’s agitated tone that sends shots on shots of adrenaline pumping in his veins at every word he can make out.

“... YOUR JOB TO MAKE SURE THIS DOESN’T HAPPEN… A SCANDAL LIKE THIS!”

Oh that’s bad. If his quiet, stress-free mother is screaming, it has got to be bad.

Although he isn’t moving, trying to discern exactly what is being said, his heart is speeding up in his chest, it almost hurts, a growing buzz of fear and anticipation is clogging his brain.

In twenty two years of existence, he guesses he believed in God for the first decade. He hasn’t walked in a church with a purpose since he was eleven and prayed God for his father to have a kind gesture towards him, for once, because he’d seen Stan’s dad hug him and he was, still is, afraid to walk too close to his.

“HE’S NOT READY FOR THE WORLD TO KNOW!”

Louis knows. Doesn’t want to admit it. But he knows. He’s had nightmares about this moment for so long now he might as well 

A cold fever takes over his body as his mind shouts obscenities at God.

With being a royal comes the glamorous life of responsabilities and lies. So many balls and dressed-up parties but oh how many lies for a single crown, but there is one that Louis is, as his mother has just put it, “not ready for the world the know”. A few words he told her after months of internal debate and a long conversation one night, with her hand in his hair and his body trying to repress heavy sobs.

So he’s praying, because if his greatest fear is becoming, has already become, reality, then he can start digging his own grave. Just give him a shovel, the gardeners are refurbishing his favorite spot, nobody will suspect anything. They can crown Lottie instead. She’ll be a good ruler.

Deep breaths. The publicity team is going to handle this. A rep is going to deny whatever came his way. He’s fine, right? Right.

Everything is fine.

His name is Louis Tomlinson, he’s the fucking Prince of France, and everything is fine.

A deep breath later, his feet touch the cool wooden floor of his bedroom. He doesn’t bother with changing out of his pajamas; Why would he? They’ve seen him in a much more naked state before.

(Everyone likes to hang out naked when they’re in vacation and paparazzis are a pain in the ass.)

The doors giving on the private lounge next to his bedroom open just as he stands up, to reveal half of his family, his sisters, his mother, in a distressed, but mainly shocked state, and Cowell, it’s never Cowell that handles this kind of matter, this is bad bad bad-

“LOUIS,” he roars, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

He’s holding what Louis guesses is this morning’s newspaper, but there’s no time to guess; the older man is angrily shoving it in his face.

Chatty rumors are easy to deny. A pap walk and a rep later, things are back to normal, the whispers have disappeared. A month later everyone has forgotten about the grainy picture of a guy who may or may not be a drunk, disheveled Louis smoking in a dark Paris alley that was all over Twitter.

Printed rumors, however, are a whole new level of pain in the ass, and Louis has had his fair share of pain in the ass, thank you. Nothing about the royal family gets printed without a dozen of public relationships experts’ approval.

But Cowell is holding this morning’s newspaper. The edition that is probably already in every kiosks and coffeeshops and bakeries, the same edition that half of this country has already read and commented on, the same fucking edition that has shirtless Louis making out with that hot dude from last week, Lucas was it? Something like that.

This is worse than what Louis was imagining. 

“This, huh,” he starts, “well this is the morning paper.” He’s using his best snide tone but his shaking voice betrays him.

“Louis-” his mother tries to speak as calmly as she can.

“This isn’t the worse of it,” Cowell interrupts her, “there are videos, videos Louis! Of you, leading this guy in the toilets of some club, of you two making out! Do you have any idea how bad this is?!”

He wants to answer, wants to say yes, he knows how bad this is, he wants to say he’s seriously considering disappearing from the public eye forever because he’s not ready and his family is not ready, his family didn’t even know oh God, they didn’t know but now the entire country is talking about it, he feels it in his gut, he feels the insults hitting him already, each “faggot” and “queer” a slap in the face leaving on his cheeks burning red marks of shame.

“How could you hide this from us, we’re supposed to know this kind of information so that THIS SORT OF SCANDAL DOESN’T HAPPEN!” Cowell continues, his features twisted by rage, apparently unaware, or at least unconcerned, with the internal breakdown Louis is having at this moment.

He’s pretty sure his heart stopped a few seconds ago, along with his brain and his lungs and any vital organs, actually; but he keeps staring at the picture as if it would help revive him.

It doesn’t.

What does, however, is the white, unmissable headline “PRINCE LOUIS IS GAY!”

Prince Louis is gay.

Prince Louis is gay.

Yeah, Prince Louis is gay and his heart is pounding in his chest and he can’t hear or feel anything anything right now except for his world collapsing as Cowell shouts that they won’t be able to deny that, they can’t, sorry, there’s nothing they can do, we’re gonna have to deal with it, good luck. He’s too alive for this shit.

“There’s a crisis cell being put together right now, we are meeting in twenty minutes to decide how we’re going to deal with this mess, so get dressed and don’t even think about crying, man up,” he snaps at the sight of Louis’ eyes tearing up fuck no the day he cries in front of this asshole hasn’t come yet, even if today seems like an unexpected rehearsal.

Cowell walks out of the room at a furious pace, spitting orders in his phone, leaving a trembling Louis face to face with his too calm, too composed mother.

In the span of a second, he pictures her scalding him, not needing to tell him how disappointed she is because he can see it in her eyes, in the sorry smile she politely offers. He opens his mouth, wants to say something, anything, I’m sorry, I should have told you, I’m sorry, I wish I had told you about this, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but fear paralizes him and nothing comes out of his mouth.

But the disappointment in his mother’s gaze was a figment of his imagination. She doesn’t politely offer a sorry smile. Well maybe she does, his vision is too blurry for him to be sure.

His mother knew, not every guy and every kiss and every crush but she knew, thank God. He wasn’t ready. He’s not ready. He is not ready he is not ready he is NOT-

Warm skin against his, a hand cradling his head, a gentle kiss on his forehead.

His mother loves him.

He is not ready.

 

*

 

“You’re never gonna to guess what the hell is shaking France right now!”

The voice is familiar and holds a note of laughter, breaking the quietness of the dining room.

The newspaper falls with a thud on the table, next to his breakfast as his friend falls with a louder thud in the chair next to him.

“Good morning to you too, Niall.”

It had been a quiet morning. He had awakened with the sun, had tea, meditated in the salon before anyone was up and finally, got dressed to pick up a book in the library and got his breakfast served in the grand dining room because the light is nice there in the mornings, hitting the wooden floor almost with respect, and this place is supposed to be peaceful so early - it is when Niall doesn’t barge in.

“C’mon look at it! I promise it is much more interesting than whatever you’re reading!”

Harry sighs, and at last lowers his book (Pride and Prejudice, because he is a romantic and english lit is more interesting than gossip, thank you very-)

“He’s gay!” Niall’s voice interrupts his thoughts again.

Harry sighs.

“Whoever it is Niall, I’m sure he would very much like people to not gossip about him. This information won’t change the course of my life, or that of my country.”

His friend has a sparkle in his eyes that means no good if experience has taught Harry well. He remembers the last time he complied and let that sparkle hit his curiosity. That did not end well, to say the least. 

But he doesn’t want to know, he wants gay people to have some peace for fuck’s sake and he doesn’t care who’s gay and who’s straight and who’s been caught sucking dick.

He does not want to know. 

“I don’t want to know, Niall.”

“Mate, I know you’ve sworn off gossip and boys and girls and gossip about boys and girls but this? You can’t ignore. Buckingham is gonna comment on it anyway so. You might as well start thinking of what you want your communication comity to publish.”

Niall grabs the paper and throws it over Harry’s book, forcing a sight Harry never thought he’d see.  
Prince Louis, making out with a boy - a man, rather, judging from his looks - in a club.

Harry doesn’t say a thing.

He did not want to know.


End file.
